


Playing With Fire

by Littlebiscuits



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Jealousy, M/M, Restraints, Teasing, Threats, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-18 00:58:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15473988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Littlebiscuits/pseuds/Littlebiscuits
Summary: In which John Seed attempts to woo the deputy, Rook is a conniving little shit, and Jacob just wants to make angry wolf slideshows.





	1. Can I Play With Madness

**Author's Note:**

> Written for 9shadowcat9 I had a lot of fun with your request. I tried to get everything in, I hope you like it.

It doesn't take long at all before John Seed's speeches to the county are no longer addressed to either the resistance, or the people in general. They very quickly shift focus to the deputy, to his existence, to his actions, to his ability to blow things up at a moments notice, and during one memorable afternoon to his exceptional singing voice.

Calling Rook a 'theme' of John's broadcasts would have been like only mentioning the top of a very large iceberg. 

But the longer Rook goes without acknowledging said attention, the more insistent it gets, the more obvious it gets. Until even Rook's companions are starting to give him looks. He suspects they probably wouldn't appreciate how amusing he finds the whole thing. That finding out exactly how annoyed he's made John has become the highlight of his day, listening to him seethe and complain at him personally has something of an appeal. John has an obsessive need to control everything that goes on in the valley, and Rook has an obsessive need to knock over all his toys. 

Nick's the first one to turn concerned looks into words, after pacing from one side of the camp to the other, angrily muttering over John's most recent complaint about Rook's ability to always be somewhere else, when John sends men out to get him. Followed by vague insinuations that Rook is doing it on purpose to encourage John to chase him.

Rook can neither confirm nor deny that.

"I don't know why you let that asshole talk. Why you don't just shut him off," Nick says angrily. "You can't have failed to notice that John Seed's trying really damn hard to get your attention."

"That is a thing I have noticed," Rook agrees. He's currently leant against the back of the truck, halfway through a beer, enjoying the last hours of sunlight. There are no other voices on the radio for a change, none from their side. No Dutch demanding they pack up and go kill some peggies, no Mary May insisting they stop Eden's Gate from stealing a town monument, no one asking them to do anything unnatural to a bull, and no Pastor Jerome asking very politely if they'd...Rook doesn't even know, something, something bibles? 

It takes Rook a moment to work out that Nick's still waiting for more, like he doesn't think the point has sunk in yet, as if Rook is supposed to have some sort of reaction to John Seed's unwanted, dubiously threatening and possibly sexual obsession with him. He sighs when Rook just shrugs, as if he doesn't understand the hazardous nature of John's continued and focused attention. 

Nick is kind of fun to play with as well.

Grace gives him a look from under her hat, because she's far too smart to fall for Rook's bullshit. 

"I told you before that man's obsessed with you," Nick adds, a little more desperately. "You need to be more careful."

"Or less careful," Grace suggests. "I think you should blow up something of his, so he doesn't get any ideas."

"I'm not sure he wouldn't just take that as encouragement at this point," Nick says miserably. "He seems like the 'any attention is good attention' type, and he might take destruction of his property as some personal challenge or something. He might take it as an excuse to come after you with everything he has."

"But I like destroying his property," Rook counters, because John's reaction is always immediate and furious, like he's taking it personally. But it rarely takes long before his voice is all smooth forgiveness again, biting edges of amusement and suggestive promises, as if he's constantly fighting with himself about what exactly he wants from Rook, and how much he's willing to let him get away with. "It makes me feel productive, and a lot of it is very ugly, and honestly just asking for it."

Especially the sign.

Rook had really hated the sign.

 

-

 

Rook suspects Nick is thinking about hiding the radio, so he snags a spare off of a peggie he pitches off a tower. Since he's not going to need it any more after all.

"Deputy, I couldn't fail to notice how close you are to the ranch, due to the trail of destruction. Please do feel free to stop in for a visit. We could talk about your inability to restrain your violent urges and how a closer relationship with God, and an understanding of your own need to atone can help you with that. You can bring your companions if you wish." The last sentence is a grate of reluctant displeasure. "Or you could come alone. I promise there will be no restraints or physical violence. I just want to talk."

"Yeah, and if you don't like what he says, he doesn't let you leave," Nick grumbles. He looks like he wants to snatch the radio from Rook's hand and break it into pieces. Which would be unhelpful. There are only so many radios in Hope County, and Rook has already sacrificed at least seven, mostly to a combination of water and bears.

"At least not without missing some skin," Grace agrees. "And some dignity."

"I shall restrain my...usual enthusiasm," John promises, as if he can hear them sniping about him. "Because I know that you're a special case, one that can't be rushed. I have hope that in the future you'll feel confident enough to put yourself in my hands." John holds the button for a long stretch after that, as if he wants to say more, but eventually it clicks quiet.

He doesn't say anything else, Rook jiggles the radio just to make sure, before putting it back in his vest.

Nick gives him a significant look. At least Rook assumes that he does. He can mostly just see an unhappy twist of mouth, and his own face reflected in Nick's glasses.

"I didn't get an invitation like that," Nick says warningly. "When they started trying to get people to confess."

"Neither did I," Grace agrees. "Mine involved a lot more shouting and threats of violence, when I declined their offer of salvation."

"He did shout at me when I blew up his big, giant asshole sign," Rook points out. He'd been in a helicopter at the time, so it had sounded very booming and dramatic. That had been a fun day.

"Yeah, and then an hour later he forgave you and took it as suggestion to build another one, which was, and I'm fucking quoting here ' _more to your liking_.'" Nick's glasses look very disappointed. "I told you not to pay attention to him."

"How am I supposed to destroy his property while not paying attention to him?" Rook asks, because he thinks that's a fairly sensible question.

Nick doesn't seem to have an answer to that, which proves he doesn't think these things through.

Because Grace insists on doing something productive with their afternoon, they blow up a few silos, and three cars. The third of which was an accident and is going to leave them all walking home. Rook knocks a VIP out with a shovel. But the man just looks sad, all unconscious and hairy in the dirt, and it seems too villainous to kill him like that. Rook reasons that they can't just keep killing everyone, there are hundreds of peggies, it's not an efficient or particularly heroic victory strategy. So they leave him tied to a tree.

Someone will probably come and find him eventually.

Probably before the bears do.

It's not Rook's problem if bears eat people that should know better.

Three days later they've liberated a long stretch of the river. Mostly because someone mentioned not being able to hold a fishing competition while the peggies were occupying it. Rook's probably not going to win but he's going to make it happen God damn it.

The morning has been pretty productive so far. They've dismantled a hallucinogenic shrine surrounded by laughing peggies, found a confused citizen who'd accidentally locked herself in a bunker, and rescued a bear with its head stuck in a tree. Rook is especially pleased about that last one. 

"Deputy Rook," John drags his name out, makes the end click. "What have you been up to? Do you have any idea how many of your messes I've had to clean up?" 

Rook reaches for the radio, he only means to set it down, so the vibration doesn't knock it over, but Nick struggles upright and reaches out like he means to grab Rook's arm.

"Do not answer him," he says, spilling half his beer over Rook's wrist. "He's like a fucking weed, if you encourage him even a little you will never get rid of him."

"He might tell us what he's up to?" Rook says, which is really just an excuse to watch Nick fret about his ability to make sensible decisions.

"He'll take it as permission," Grace says slowly. "Or more than permission, and I'm not sure I want to know what he has to say when he knows you're actually listening." 

"I wish you would talk to me," John says, interrupting all of them, voice all frustration and annoyance. "You spend so much time with those people, dragging them through the valley, making trouble, _involving_ them. I almost think you're trying to make me jealous." John's next sound is bitten off, radio clicking harshly, as if he hadn't meant to share the last part.

Nick makes a miserable, angry noise.

"I fucking told you," he says simply.

"Well, I think if there was ever any question that he didn't want to get himself a brand new lust tattoo just for you, I'm pretty sure that just answered it," Grace decides.

"He just likes to be the centre of attention," Rook points out. "We all know that. He's kind of like this with everyone, sort of aggressively inappropriate, threatening and vaguely needy. Maybe he doesn't even know he's doing it?"

"How can he not know he's doing it?" Nick wants to know. 

"He's hot and he's rich, he's probably never had to actually try to get anyone to sleep with him before," Grace offers.

Rook raises an eyebrow at her, amused. Nick looks betrayed in some way.

" _Grace._ "

"I have eyes," she says flatly. "I am capable of using my eyes to objectively decide someone's physical attractiveness." She stretches her boots out in Nick's direction, as if daring him to comment.

"Purely objectively?" Rook asks her.

"I have no idea what you're even insinuating," Grace says. Then decides this is the perfect time to check her scope for minute imperfections that may have appeared sometime in the last hour.

"Grace has a point though," Rook tells Nick. "I mean now John's no longer hiding the fact that he's as crazy as a sack of cats and spends most of his time co-running a cult, it must be harder to connect to people. I figure all he gets from Joseph are creepy prophecies and bible quotes, and all he gets from Jacob is wolf-based, eat the weak philosophies. And he's not even technically allowed to have sex any more. There's probably a lot of unresolved shit there, frustrations and such-like. A need for adult conversations."

Nick looks like a man who wants to object, to everything, but mostly to Rook making him think about John Seed's frustrations.

Rook looks as innocent as he can manage without pushing it. 

"It doesn't change the fact that he's clearly determined to get you in his bunker, and it probably won't just be a confession he tries to drag out of you. I worry about you getting snatched by him, man. You don't know what he wants to do to you."

"Or what he wants you to do to him," Grace mutters under her breath. 

But that's the thing isn't it.

Rook's enjoying antagonising John Seed, listening to him seethe down the radio, in a combination of fury and sexual frustration, all while Rook tries not to get caught. This is probably the most fun he's had since he tried to arrest a cult leader and the whole world went to hell.

Of course, he suspects admitting to that will make people think he's crazy.


	2. A Captive Audience

Getting captured by John Seed is an unexpected wrench thrown into Rook's plans.

He doesn't mean it to happen, he overestimates how many peggies are going to be at the airfield, and then runs up the stairs instead of out the door, like some idiot in a horror movie. He ends up stuck between a peggie with a rocket launcher and a forty foot drop. He has just long enough to be annoyed about not packing his grappling hook, and to seriously consider the long drop, before something smacks him in the side of the neck and the world goes green and sparkling at the edges.

The peggie waits until he's on the floor, until he's in no danger of getting punched in the throat, before he comes close enough to poke him with the end of his rifle.

Rook watches his boots blur in and out, and thinks about calling him a bad word. 

But his mouth has stopped working.

-

When the world comes back into some sort of focus he's in an underground bunker, all steel, long pipes and low lighting. He's tied to a chair, in a way that tells him someone knows how to tie competent knots, and he's not going to be wriggling free without losing more of his skin than he's happy with. John Seed is watching him, screwdriver held comfortably in one hand, with an expression of impatient excitement that Rook isn't sure he deserves.

"Deputy Rook, it's so nice of you to join me."

God fucking -

"Damn it," Rook says simply, because he was hoping to put off visiting John's sexy torture dungeon for as long as possible. At least until he knew for certain whether he could talk his way out of the sexy torture at least.

John leans back against the table he's stood in front of, elbows balanced on the wood in a way that makes his vest and shirt pull open.

It's so obviously intentional, every line of him tipped invitingly in Rook's direction. Though Rook's not sure what exactly John's expecting his reaction to be. Most people don't find kidnap and threats of torture exciting. And Eden's Gate doesn't actually let people have sex, they are very _firm_ about that commandment. There's a chance that John is just indulging himself in sinful thoughts, using Rook as a convenient outlet for all his frustrations and unfulfilled needs. And this is him killing two birds with one stone, getting his rocks off, and hoping Rook will feel sexually threatened by his suggestive body language at the same time. 

Or maybe John genuinely just wants Rook to look at him, and want him, and reciprocate in some way. 

Either way the display is both visually appealing and so amazingly blunt that Rook sort of wants to laugh. But he likes his balls where they are just fine, so he doesn't.

He's currently a lot more threatened by the selection of tools pinned up behind John, if he's being honest, glinting at him in a way that make his insides want to clench in some sort of precognitive horror. Because he's fairly certain John knows how to use every one of them in painful and disturbing ways, to take a man apart. And Rook's still not entirely sure that John doesn't intend to add 'flirtatious torture' to the schedule today. Painless human interaction seems to be something he has trouble with. Rook doesn't mind a little rough stuff, but permanent maiming is going to kill his enthusiasm pretty fucking quickly. Though he has to admit, the not knowing is kind of doing it for him. He's starting to think that Hope County is trying to ruin his decision making abilities.

John comes closer, all anticipation and slow stretching smile. He has a very good smile, it's wide and easy. It's a shame that it keeps opening and spilling cult philosophy and promises of terrible violence everywhere. Because that's a smile Rook would have quite liked to pull in and turn into something else. He might have even let it bite him, maybe slipped his fingers into it - which probably amounts to the same thing.

Rook suspects that being tied to a chair might be doing it for him too, maybe a little bit.

"You don't know how long I've waited for the chance to get your undivided attention," John says quietly, he lifts his hands, to display the fact that Rook can't help but pay attention to him now. "Trying to explain to you exactly why you need to stop breaking things, just doesn't work over a radio, there's too much distance. It's too easy to stop listening, to walk away, to refuse to _engage_ with me." There's a very pointed gesture on that last part, as if Rook's radio silence has been vexing him. "Convincing someone that they're on the wrong path takes time, it takes persistence, it takes hard work. Hearing someone's confession is a personal thing, people need to be supported, because tearing yourself open, exposing your sins to the world, it's not easy. I understand that. That's why I'm here, to help you make the right choices."

"You're going to open me up either way, aren't you?" Rook says, he's been practicing his stoic face. He's pretty good at it, he's been watching Grace.

John swallows, visibly, the screwdriver squeaks slightly in his grip. He opens his mouth, and then closes it, like he forgot what he was talking about.

So, yes, Rook's pretty sure he could convince John to take sexy torture off the table.

"I can help you make the right choices, all you have to do is ask," John says eventually, more carefully, as if he's trying to concentrate. "This thing doesn't have to be painful, it doesn't have to be an ordeal, not if you accept us."

The waving screwdriver in John's hand would seem to dispute that, but Rook's not sure John even remembers he's holding it at this point.

"Not everyone fights, not everyone struggles, some people come willingly, they come gently. With nothing more than a...coaxing hand."

Rook isn't entirely sure whether John intended the innuendo behind that. He likes to think that he didn't, and his mouth is just running away with him now. Or it could possibly be Rook's fault. Either way the thought of John not being able to stop, of doing it around Jacob and Joseph is entertaining in some way. Though he has to honestly wonder if Joseph would even notice. Would Joseph Seed notice a dick joke if it hit him in the face?

Rook turns an unexpected laugh into a cough, tells himself to pay attention.

"We could explore other avenues for all that pent up energy that you're channelling into anger," John suggests. He looks like he wants to reach out and touch him, but maybe he's afraid if he starts he won't be able to stop. "Something to stop you from lashing out at those around you. I could give you a new purpose, I could lay it on your skin. All you have to do is say yes."

That could almost be taken like John is suggesting Rook be a soldier for Eden's Gate, if you squinted the right way at it. But Rook's brain is on a very specific track now and he's pretty sure it's going to make every comment sexual in some way. John Seed is a bad influence.

"I'm not interested in fighting for Eden's Gate," he says instead. Because part of him honestly wants to know how long he can pretend he hasn't noticed exactly what John Seed is doing. Before John makes it too obvious for anyone to feasibly ignore, or has some sort of sexually frustrated meltdown. Probably not Rook's best idea, but bad choices are sort of his thing, and Hope County might have made him a little reckless, and provocative.

John leans into the chair, close enough that Rook can smell him, and he would admit to idly wondering in the past whether John would smell like the vindictive psychopath he was, all sweat, blood and tattoo ink. Or whether he'd have let some of his old self make decisions, if he'd smell of something smoky and expensive. He uses some sort of product after all, no one's hair does that naturally.

Rook's surprised to find John smells like some combination of both. The conflicting sharpness of it is surprisingly appealing. Though that does make Rook wonder if he's been spending too much time surrounded by violence and explosions. 

He sighs, in a way that could be completely accidental, against the long, bare curve of John's throat.

John's makes a cracked noise, hastily bitten down on, but he leans in further, almost close enough that Rook could turn his head and bite down on his neck, long enough to tempt him to.

"I'm not exactly feeling very trusting," Rook says instead. "I'm supposed to tell all my secrets to someone I don't even know. Someone who's tied me up and threatened me."

He stretches his leg sideways, makes the movement look natural, but still manages to drag his thigh against the outside of John's.

John Seed goes very still, and Rook wonders for a fraction of a second if he'd pushed too far. But then John straightens abruptly, eyes wide and dark, mouth half open like he has no idea what he's supposed to be doing any more, what he's allowed to be doing. 

"Would you like to get to know me?" he asks thickly, swallows. "Because that can be arranged."

Rook frowns like he has no idea what John even means, or like he thinks it might be a trick to get him to spill secrets.

"You don't have to confess straight away," John says quietly, and his eyes keep slipping down to focus on Rook's mouth. "We could spend some time together first. Something more intimate. I could read some of our literature to you. I don't quite have Joseph's talent for drawing people in, of making them feel wanted, but that wouldn't matter if it was just the two of us." 

And really that's almost a nice invitation, but John is still gesturing, lazily, with the eight inch piece of metal that it still hasn't occurred to him to put down. Rook's fairly sure there are still patches of dried blood on it. It's like he has no idea how to do this without being a psychopath.

"I could cook," John suggests, there's something hopeful and a little desperate in his voice now.

Rook decides to pretend that he missed most of that conversation, because he was staring at the screwdriver the whole time.

"What!? You're going to cook someone?" He tries for an appropriate amount of horror, drawing back in the chair as far as his bound hands will allow.

"What? No -" John frowns.

"No," Rook says hastily. "You don't have to do that, no one wants that, that's _barbaric_." 

John just looks confused now, and more than a little offended.

"No, I meant -"

They're interrupted by the angry blaring of an alarm, and Rook has no idea whether it's to tell John that someone has broken into the bunker, or that something is about to explode. But John hisses something under his breath, then turns around and stabs the screwdriver into the board with one aggressive and disturbingly well practiced movement.

"I will be right back," John says firmly, all taut fury in a second. "Do not go anywhere."

The moment the other man is through the door Rook sets about escaping captivity.

Because it's really hard to indulgently enjoy someone chasing you, unless you're actually on the run.


	3. Getting A Second Opinion

It's been raining all afternoon when Jacob shoves open John's kitchen door. Fills the entire frame with rainwater, fresh mud, and the grumpy, looming silence of his presence.

He's soaking wet, streaks of mud on his jacket, pants and boots. As if instead of driving he'd walked the whole way here, wrestling any random bear he came across, or maybe he'd parked right outside and then scouted the perimeter of the ranch, before standing motionless somewhere in the trees waiting for just the right time to enter.

John, because he's immune to Jacob's theatrical drama, throws a towel at him.

Jacob lets it hit him in the chest and fall, then walks over it on his way to the chair opposite John. He sits down, and promptly drips mud across John's spotless table, and the floor, and the chair. There are smears and streaks of it as far as the counter.

If he were anyone else, John would nail his hand to the fucking table. Instead he scowls and throws him another towel, which Jacob uses to pull rain out of his beard, with the slow considering air of a man who is in no rush to give John what he wants, which is clearly his attention. 

"Do I look like a cannibal to you?" John asks him.

Jacob blinks at him, and slowly lowers the towel.

"What?"

John leans a little closer, hands pressed flat to the wood.

"Do I look like the sort of person who would cook and eat someone. Be honest." He doesn't really have to add the last part. The one thing John has always been able to count on Jacob for is answering his questions honestly. Though his honesty is often something of a blunt object that he will hit you with repeatedly, until you tell him to stop.

Jacob scowls at him, drops the towel on the floor. 

"Under desperate circumstances, or for some sort of strange, perverse pleasure?" he asks. 

John decides to be grateful that Jacob doesn't waste time trying to work out why the hell John wants to know the answer.

"The second," he says firmly. There had definitely been...suggestions of the second.

"Yes," Jacob says, immediately, without even having to think about it.

John's not going to pretend he hadn't been prepared for an answer that might have upset him. But he'd expected Jacob to at least think about it for longer than a second.

"You asked me if you _looked_ like that sort of person, not if I thought you were," Jacob says, to whatever expression is on John's face right now.

"Ah, so I just _look_ like I could possibly be a sexually motivated cannibal?" John says slowly. "That's so much better, thank you."

Jacob shrugs. 

"I thought you asked me here to talk about perimeter fences?" he says instead. Which, frustratingly, is not an answer to John's question.

"Why would I want to talk about perimeter fences?" John frowns, because that doesn't sound like the sort of thing he'd care about unless forced to.

"It's what you texted me," Jacob says tightly. He pulls his phone out from the inside of his jacket and thumbs it open. Where John can see the last message, which is now streaked with mud.

"So I did," John agrees, unable to refute the evidence. "It probably seemed like the sort of thing you'd find compelling enough to come down to the valley for."

"You lied?" Jacob's voice grates out as half accusation and half judgment.

"I didn't lie," John says smoothly. "We have literally just had a conversation about perimeter fences, as I knew we inevitably would."

"One day you're going to stretch a rule so far it's going to snap and hit you in the face," Jacob tells him, and jams his phone back inside his jacket.

"I shall have to remember to duck," John says flippantly, because he gets dire warnings of impending doom from Jacob at least three times a week. "But right now, I need you to help me work out how to get the deputy to come to me."

Jacob grunts something unhappy, and he doesn't even have to ask which deputy. 

"Are you still obsessed with him? You're as bad as Joe, I don't know why you're both so convinced that man is special."

"He took back the entire Fang Centre with a pistol and a shovel," John reminds him. In case Jacob had forgotten, and judging by the unhappy slant of his mouth he hadn't. "He made every single one of the men you left there look _weak_. He's currently single-handedly taking most of our territory along the river back. I'm fairly certain his special-ness is no longer up for debate."

"You're both indulging him," Jacob complains. "Letting him get away with things because you think he has a purpose, because you think he's going to join us, because you want to indulge your own sins with him, refusing to just put him down." Jacob looks annoyed in a way that feels like frustration too, and John suspects he's had this conversation with Joseph already. John doesn't even have to ask, Joseph always gets what he wants.

But John knows how to get what he wants too.

"And I'm going to be the one who brings him in, the one who makes him join us. He's supposed to be mine. I just need you to help me make him come to me. To give me something I can use."

Jacob stares at him for a second, then fishes something out of his other pocket and drops it on the table between them. It's long and silver, rocking back and forth in a small puddle of dirty water, and it's a dog whistle.

John's mouth pulls tight. He's not sure if that's a judgment on his taste or an insult to the deputy. Either way it's unproductive and unhelpful, and possibly insulting.

"Yes, and now you've gotten that out of your system, any other suggestions?"

Jacob takes a moment to think about it.

"Bear traps," he decides at last.

The patience of fucking angels, John tells himself. Which seems like a lot to ask, because, unlike Jacob, patience is not one of his many skills.

"Bear traps?" John repeats, he hopes he gets enough confusion into that. "What the fuck am I supposed to do with a bear trap?"

Jacob grunts.

"Set them around the ranch, he'll step in one. Might not be able to come to you, but will make it a lot easier to find him. If he gets out he'll even leave a trail you can follow."

"I feel as if using a bear trap will leave him unreceptive to any overtures I make. Due to the massive blood loss, disorientation and the fact that I used a _fucking bear trap_ on him." Because, honestly, there's a difference between a little flirtatious violence and possibly taking someone's foot off at the ankle to make a point.

Jacob shrugs. "Then bandage him afterwards. It's not like you don't have experience with puncture wounds and crush injuries."

John's tempted to jam finger and thumb against the bridge of his nose. But he suspects that's what Jacob wants, that he's doing this in the hope that it will make John stop.

"Do you have any ideas which do not involve physical maiming? I would rather not maim the deputy, thank you."

Jacob grumbles something about that not being a problem for him before.

"This time is different, the deputy is different." John has never been this certain that someone is supposed to be his before.

"The deputy, is it?" Jacob says dryly. "Well, don't worry, I'm sure he'll formally introduce himself any day now."

" _Rook_ is different," John says tightly, irritation gnawing its way into his voice. Jacob manages to look amused while having no discernible expression on his face. 

"Is that right? What's his first name?"

John clenches his teeth.

"He's going to share that with me, when the time is right."

Jacob stares at him, and this time there's something like a smile in the gritted annoyance of his lower jaw. John suspects he knows the deputy's name, that he either tortured it out of one of his colleagues, or did some sort of reconnaissance at the jail to find out. But John will not ask. He will not fucking ask.

He folds his arms and waits.

"I hear you had him once already, and then let him escape," Jacob says, as if he's making a judgment on John's competence. As if he isn't always making a judgment on John's competence. When Faith practically lives in an abandoned water tower, surrounds herself with lunatics and doesn't wear any shoes.

John sighs shakily, because Jacob's right, he'd fucking had him, he'd been inches away from him, all restrained power, mouth a curve of amused resistance, body heat close enough to touch, and John had never been more certain of his choice, of the gift he'd been given. The man chosen for him as a reward. But he couldn't concentrate, and then everything that came out of John's stupid fucking mouth had been either lecherous or idiotic. He's fairly certain he came across...badly. But he can correct the deputy's mistaken assumptions, he can encourage dialogue. He can drag him back again. He just has to get the deputy to _engage_.

"I didn't _let_ him escape, and I intend to get him back, I intend to keep him, and you're going to help me."

"You realise I was actually busy," Jacob says eventually. "With productive things, the expansion of Eden's Gate territory, the breeding of our protection, munitions, food supplies. Because unlike some people I don't waste time on personal business."

"You don't have personal business," John points out, more sharply than he might have, but he asked Jacob here to help him, not to openly mock him. John gets enough of that from the Resistance. He's perfectly capable of fitting confessions, baptisms and corrective punishments around his current...interests.

"Maybe because I spend too much time unfucking yours?" Jacob says. But he eventually sighs and makes his way over to the fridge, he opens it and frowns inside, before taking out the chicken John was going to have for lunch and wedging a handful of it between two slices of bread. He doesn't seem bothered in the slightest that there's a muddy handprint on it.

Jacob picks up his sandwich, bites into it and chews on it for a minute.

"Hmm," he considers.

John watches him, impatiently 

Jacob chews some more, sighs expansively through a mouthful of bread and chicken.

"Does he want to fuck you?" he asks.

John thinks about it for a minute. The deputy hasn't actually said no, or rejected him outright. He didn't object when John leaned into his personal space, he didn't seem frightened. He mostly looked confused, and failed to react to any of his advances, which is gradually becoming more annoying, because John thinks he's been more than clear. Though he would prefer stupidity over disinterest. Stupidity he can work with.

"I'm fairly certain he's at least willing to consider the possibility," John says carefully, and hopes that isn't wishful thinking.

Jacob raises an eyebrow.

"Right, so that's a maybe. Are you willing to tie him up and drug him?"

John considers that. That feels like a last resort, like giving up before you've even started, but he doesn't want to take it off the table completely.

"I don't think I've quite reached that point yet. I'm still hoping he can be convinced."

"You could threaten his friends with torture, or just torture them in front of him. That'll make him do what you want."

"I'm trying to avoid making seething hatred and forced coercion part of the seduction," John says.

"Never had a problem with that before either," Jacob complains. "And don't say seduction, I don't want to think about you getting plowed." He frowns, and sighs over half a sandwich, as if John has indeed forced him to think about it, and he's now miserable. 

"If you don't want to think about me being gutted in the woods somewhere, come up with a better option."

"I could always make him do what you want," Jacob suggests. "A week at the centre, a small room, the right amount of persuasion, a picture of you, and some clothes I could put on a mannequin."

"I don't want him brainwashed," John protests.

"Conditioning," Jacob corrects grumpily. "And it would make him compliant. It would make him _obedient_."

John digs his fingers into the table, doesn't think about it, doesn't fucking think about it. Because he wants more than that, he wants resistance, he wants to be the object of someone else's selfish greed, he wants to be _chosen_.

"I don't want him brainwashed," he says again, voice tight and final. "I want him to choose me."

Jacob sighs, like John's being difficult on purpose, or like that's too much to ask. Which John doesn't want to look at too closely, because that's nothing that hasn't been gnawing at him already. 

"Then find something he wants, something he needs, and be the only one who has it, make him come to you because he has to. Make him _need_ you. If you can't figure out a way to keep him after that, then you don't deserve him."

John clenches his teeth and forces himself not to react to that, because Jacob is baiting him and he knows it. They don't steal from each other, and they don't break each other's things. But his brother does have a point. That suggestion has promise. John has always been good at finding out what people need. 

Jacob watches him shove his fury back down, watches him tug his vest straight.

"You know Joe's going to pitch a fit if he catches you," Jacob tells him. "There'll be disappointment and fucking sermons for days. You're breaking at least three rules."

John is well aware of that. Which is why he's trying to make this work, trying to pull the deputy in and make him one of them before Joseph finds out. Because he knows Joseph will make that disappointed face. The one that tells John he's fucked up again. He'll make a point to give John his personal attention, and he'll be angry and disappointed like a storm, and then supportive and forgiving and there will be sermons and the grip of his fingers and slow-building tension that always comes with Joseph's disappointment. That tells John he has made decisions that impact his own future, his own salvation in ways that Joseph is here to help him avoid, to pull him away from. And John will be forced to cut himself open to make it stop. He loves his brother, he does, but he can be unbearably fucking intense sometimes.

But this time, this time John is right, this time he knows this is what's supposed to happen.

"We're meant to be together," he tells Jacob. "It won't be wrong once I make him understand. Joseph will see that."

"Uh huh," Jacob says, because he always thinks everything is going to catch fire and explode. 

"We're meant to be," John says again. "The deputy was sent here for me. When I take him to bed, he'll be mine, and it won't be a sin."

"Good job too," Jacob grumbles. "Because no one has enough space for all the four letter words you'd need to dig into yourself."

"The only person who'll be carving anything into me is him," John tells him.

Jacob exhales amusement, finishes his sandwich.

"You always were a romantic little shit."


	4. Entrapment

John Seed has been suspiciously quiet for days now. It's not like him, John likes to share, he likes to tell everyone how much he wants them all to confess, often on a daily basis. He likes to give long, rambling speeches about exactly how he thinks Rook has sinned since he last spoke to him. But there's been almost nothing, since Rook blew up all his trucks and left one of his Chosen's planes burning on what was effectively his front lawn.

He has to wonder if maybe Joseph had told him to tone it the fuck down - only not phrased like that, probably with less cursing and more earnestness and disappointed intensity. Maybe some sermons and half naked embracing? Rook doesn't know what counts as punishment when you're all in on cult business, and also a Seed.

Nick keeps insisting that it's because he's planning something. Something they need to prepare for.

Rook's debating whether he should do something to gently encourage John to fume through the radio at him. Set something he's particularly fond of on fire? Leave a dead wolverine on his porch? Rook doesn't want to look obvious though. He feels like he's dangerously close to doing something obvious.

Sharky and Jess spend a full day scouting out the road between Falls End and the Seed Ranch. They must be curious about John's uncharacteristic silence as well, because Sharky goes the entire day without setting anything on fire. Though he does make more than a few jokes about Rook spurning John's advances one too many times. Which would be more annoying if they didn't feel like a genuine possibility.

"Did you see anything?" Rook asks them when they get back.

"There was a truck driven down from the mountains," Jess offers. "We thought it might have captive townsfolk, or weapons, or more fucking Bliss in it, so we followed it, and then jacked it open while the peggie was taking a piss -"

"It was full of fucking bear traps," Sharky butts in. "Like not even new ones, half of 'em had been used, and probably not for bears."

"You ever seen a hundred bear traps just hanging on racks?" Jess asks, face screwed up like she's still thinking about it. 

Rook has to shake his head.

"I tell you, it's creepy as fuck, is what it is," she says. "Watching them all swing and clank into each other, like someone was going to make some sort of torture escape room. A fucking stockpile of bear traps. Who does that?"

"Jacob Seed does that," Nick offers. "Goddamn psychopath."

"It was like something out of a horror movie," Sharky agrees. "So, we followed the truck, right. To see what the hell Jacob was going to do with them."

"To see what he was using them on, or where he was putting them," Jess says. "And the peggie drove them all the way to the Seed Ranch. Though I'm pretty sure John wasn't expecting it. Because he took one look inside, got all pissed off. I thought he was going to kill the driver on the spot. He made the guy turn around drive it all the way back up to Jacob's territory. Seriously, what the fuck was all that about?"

"Hell if I know, but if I understood half of the crazy shit they do I'd be -" Sharky stops, as if he realises there's nowhere for that observation to go.

Rook has no idea either. Unless Jacob was offering some sort of suggestion to deal with John's pest problem. Rook thinks Jacob would be more than happy to see him in a bear trap. He'd want to watch it happen, in the hope that he'd get to see Rook chew his own leg off and escape. Of course, Jacob would then hunt him through the woods via the blood trail, while monologuing at him about strength and wolves and submission. Rook suspects the man really needs to get laid.

But the only games Jacob plays are the ones he gets to win, the ones that leave all the pieces snapped in half, and the board on fire. This is probably why no one plays with him.

"You emptied the truck out, I'm assuming?" Rook asks. Because he can't picture either of them turning down the opportunity to steal a bunch of shit from Jacob Seed.

Sharky smiles, like Rook hadn't even needed to ask.

"Yep, we took it just before it hit the mountains. Though we did have a moment of like 'what the fuck are we going to do with a hundred bear traps.' Until Hurk remembered crazy-Eleanor likes to make those sculptures of dragons and sharks and things out of old scrap metal. So we gave them all to her."

"She gave us pie," Jess says. "It was really good."

Sharky nods agreement. "It turns out scrap metal is not her only talent. She's promised to make you something by the way. She says just drop in any time and she'll show you some sketches."

"I do like sharks," Rook says honestly, because that's super nice of her. He might take her up on that, assuming Hope County doesn't burn to the ground before then.

Nick is already on the radio, warning people to be more aware of the possibility of bear traps in the valley. Though this doesn't really do much to solve the question of why John is staying off the radio. Why he hasn't come out of his ranch for the best part of a week. Rook kind of misses being menaced and aggressively flirted at while he's trekking through the woods, looking for stashes and injured civilians. Did Rook push too hard? Did he not push hard enough? Has he become invested in this to a ridiculous degree without even noticing it. God damn it, yes. 

Grace comes to stand beside him. 

"I'm fairly certain John isn't going to be littering the valley with bear traps," Rook tells her. "No matter what Nick's paranoia tells him."

"And you're not just saying that because of the weird, teasing self-destructive thing you have going on with him, that's a car crash waiting to happen."

Rook eyes her sideways.

Grace raises an eyebrow at him and dares him to lie.

"No," Rook says. "Not because of that. Because John's smart enough to know that they'd catch more peggies than resistance or civilians." 

"They are remarkably dumb," Grace agrees."Though you realise I am going to be judging all of your choices, if you end up in a bear trap."

Rook suspects that the bear trap in this case is metaphorical.

"Will you at least help me out of the bear trap first?" Rook asks.

Grace seems to consider it for a moment.

"Depends on how badly you're bleeding." 

Rook would be more offended, but this is probably why she's his favourite.

 

~

 

John is still quiet the next day, there's nothing on the radio but coded resistance messages, lost citizens requesting help, and Mary May reminding everyone that today is the last day to sign up for the fishing competition. Which, shit, Rook has to remember to do that.

Nothing from John though, and Rook already knows he's the type to share his feelings with absolutely everyone within range, whether they wanted to hear them or not. Rook may have to be the one to poke him this time, he may have to do more than poke him.

He lets his finger click the radio button a few times. Contacting John directly would definitely get a response, but that would be far too obvious. Rook also needs a genuine reason, something John would be interested in, something he wouldn't be able to resist.

Rook starts walking away from the road, dips into the treeline and hits the button.

"Are there any planes in the sky around the west ridge? I need a lift back to town and I want to scout around a little from the air."

Rook waits for what he thinks is an appropriate amount of time for a hopeful, stranded traveller to get a response.

"Nick? Are you there?" Rook knows for a fact that Nick and Kim are in town, and out of range.

Of course, an easier way to do this, would be for Rook to walk all the way to the Seed Ranch and take John's plane himself. That would be the sort of message John Seed couldn't fail to understand. But Rook could storm an outpost any day of the week, he could liberate an outpost in his sleep at this point. He doesn't think he'd enjoy that half as much.

"Come on, guys, no pilots out there want to take pity on me? I'd fly myself, but I haven't seen a plane for fucking miles."

There are a few voices in range, radioing in, asking for Rook's coordinates. 

He ignores them.

"If you need a plane, Deputy, you only need to ask," John says quietly. 

And there you have it. Rook is a much better fisherman than people give him credit for.

"I will take you wherever you need to go," John adds. "It'll give us an opportunity to talk, without you slipping away the moment I turn my back." He still sounds sore about that. 

"You underestimate my willingness to jump out of a plane, John," Rooks tells him. It's hard to sound uninterested when you're smiling, but he does his best.

There's a clatter from the other end, a button held down and then let go repeatedly, in what feels a lot like some sort of surprised spasm, before John seems to collect himself.

"Of all the things I've said to you, this is the one that gets you to reply?" He sounds genuinely surprised, curious, some messy, breathless sort of pleased.

Rook doesn't answer for a second. He doesn't want to be too enthusiastic after all.

"You're very persistent," he says simply. 

"If you object to me flying you. I'll make sure you're never stranded in the middle of nowhere again." John's voice clips over the words, as if he's in a rush to get them out. "What's your favourite colour?" 

There's another pause, leaving him time to answer. Rook clicks the button but says nothing.

"I'm thinking you're a green sort of man," John says, all flirtatious amusement. Because he knows for a fact that Rook is listening now. "I think I shall get you a green one."

"Do not buy me a plane," Rook says into the radio. "I don't need a plane, there are plenty parked around the county I can use."

"I think that might be stealing," John says gently. He still sounds thrilled that Rook has made this a conversation. 

Rook thinks that most of the owners are probably dead, which makes it...not stealing? salvage maybe? Other people have been littering the valley with planes, and he's doing his civic duty putting them to good use. Which is usually crashing into things. Rook is not actually that good at planes yet. But he's been getting a lot of practice.

"I always put them back where I found them," Rook tells him. "Which is on the ground." Usually in one piece, though not always, there are a lot of trees in Hope County.

John's laughing, Rook can hear him through the half press of a button, and he's far too pleased about that.

"Besides flying is distracting, and there's a lot of pressure. I'd rather just have someone else fly me around while I shoot at stuff." 

John makes a soft sound, as if he thinks that Rook might be teasing him, suggesting something.

"Well now, that almost sounds like an invitation. Would you like me to be your pilot, Deputy Rook?"

Rook likes the way John says his name, like he wants to keep it in his mouth. And he has to admit, that offer is very appealing.

"I'd prefer to go with a little more experience, John," he tells him. "But luckily, I'm already friends with the best pilots in the county." Rook takes his finger off the button.

There's the grating, squeaking sound of crushed plastic, before there's a loud crack, and then utter silence.

Rook's pretty sure John just accidentally snapped his radio in half.


	5. Fire In The Hole

When John gets downstairs he finds Jacob occupying his kitchen table again. He's less muddy this time, though there's an amused edge to the set of his mouth that John doesn't trust.

John had asked his men to notify him if any of his siblings showed up unexpectedly. Jacob isn't supposed to have any direct power over John's men, not while in his territory, and John does not remember being informed that Jacob was visiting. If he'd been anyone else, there'd be a strong possibility that one of his men was now hidden in a bush somewhere with a broken neck. But when Jacob kills someone he doesn't hide it. When Jacob kills someone they end up nailed to your door for everyone to see. Jacob likes people to think he's an uncomplicated man. But his dramatic statements can be more elaborate than John's by a mile. 

John decides he'll worry about his missing guard later. He has no idea why Jacob is even here, he didn't call him this time, he probably didn't call him anyway. He'd been very angry earlier, and he remembers throwing his phone against the wall. Maybe it accidentally called him. Either way, he's not exactly thrilled at the prospect of company right now.

Jacob waits until John sits down before he speaks.

"Why is your name gouged into a field outside town, in letters twenty feet long?" he asks curiously.

"I don't want to talk about it," John tells him. Because he's not going to give Jacob the satisfaction of forcing John to relive his bad decisions.

"You hit a cow," Jacob points out.

"I fucking know," John says tightly. The cow had been a miscalculation, it had been in the way and he hadn't seen it, he'd been distracted, he'd been _angry_. 

"Pretty sure they take off points for that," Jacob says, which is unnecessary.

John takes a moment to have uncharitable thoughts about his eldest brother, before he takes a deep breath and tugs his vest down.

"I may have had a momentary lapse in judgment. Indulged in a moment of...pride." Perhaps also wrath, envy and lust. It was a disappointing day all round, if John's being honest. "My plans refuse to bear fruit, my offers of salvation spurned, every time I reach out I am _rejected_. It's starting to feel like he's laughing at me." It's starting to feel personal, and vindictive, and that should make John want to stop, but if anything it just makes him want to dig his fingers in deeper. It feels like he's being tested, though he's honestly not sure who by.

Jacob makes a frustrated noise, which seems to imply John is an idiot.

"He thinks he's a soldier," Jacob says simply. "He thinks he's fighting a war. He's not just going to fucking surrender to you."

Jacob leans into the table, Pointed finger pressing down into the wood, like he's making a point.

"No, you have to set a trap for him, you have to bring him down where you live. Cut off his escape routes, burn the ground behind him until he has nowhere to go. If you want to win, then you have to prove you're someone he should fear, that he should kneel to. Once he's run to exhaustion, once he's crushed, and demoralized and you're standing in the flaming wreckage of his previous life, then you reach out a hand and take him." Jacob closes his hand into a fist and thumps it on the table. 

John considers Jacob for a long moment of silence. Sometimes he thinks his brother represses too much. He should probably pick whichever of his soldiers he can stand to look at for the longest, and fuck some of this aggression out.

But he also thinks Jacob is missing an important point here.

"Again, this is the man who has taken an entire guard outpost with a baseball bat and a flare gun. I'm pretty sure that if I try it your way, the only flaming wreckage is going to be my ranch, and the only person on their knees is going to be me."

And now he's thinking about it, about that combination of failure and frustration, of the aggressively demoralizing sex he might be pressed into. He can't help the noise he makes, half disgusted with himself and half unbearably aroused. 

"You get distracted thinking about yourself, not the consequences of every action you take," Jacob says, like that's supposed to have some deeper meaning, and isn't just a demand that John stop making sex noises when Jacob has to be around to hear them.

John suspects he should consider himself lucky that Jacob hadn't found a reason to be interested in the deputy as well, or worse, interested in him _first_ , because he's not sure he could have resisted the urge to try and take Rook from him.

"You know perfectly well that I consider everything," John counters. He just doesn't obsess over every fucking detail like Jacob does.

"If you made some sort of solid plan," Jacob tells him. "Instead of waiting for him to crash his way through your house, or relying on him baiting you into a reaction."

"I had a plan," John snaps. "I was going to make him need me, I was going to make him realise what I could give him, to make him rely on me for help."

Jacob leans back in his chair until it creaks sharply.

"You tried to buy him something didn't you?" he says flatly.

John frowns.

"Because that's still one of your knee-jerk reactions to a problem you can't solve, throw money at it," Jacob accuses, as if it's cheating in some way.

John shuts his mouth and glares.

"What did you try and buy him?" Jacob demands. 

"A plane," John says stiffly. "But it was a tease, I was going to convince him to let me fly him, to put his trust in me."

"What's he supposed to do with a plane? If we go underground for the best part of a decade. You're supposed to be smarter than that. Why didn't you offer him a goddamn submarine as well."

"He can get rid of it when he joins us," John points out, because that part is stupidly obvious. This is clearly a slow process, one which requires a careful hand, one which requires restraint, self-control. It's honestly no wonder he's been fucking it up at every turn. "Once he sees, once he understands what Joseph is doing, what he's trying to save him from, he won't need to worry about anything out there."

"Seems like a waste of time," Jacob grumbles.

"It was your idea," John points out. "Give him something he needed."

"So, how did your plan go?" Jacob asks, though John can tell it's not a question, it's a reminder, of the mess he'd made afterwards, of his own fuck-up.

John would love to reach across the table and strangle him, but Jacob is his brother, he loves and respects him. And he'd probably have John in a chokehold before he cleared the floor.

"Don't you have a deputy of your own to crush beneath your boot and humiliate, or show pictures of dogs fucking or something," he complains.

"They're not _fucking_ ," Jacob says fiercely. Though his scowl has taken on the faintest hint of frustration. "It's a display of nature's fury and strength, its indomitable will to survive, to thrive and continue."

"So fucking then?" John says tightly.

Jacob glares at him. "They're majestic creatures," he counters unhappily.

John frowns confusion at him for long enough that Jacob scowls back.

" _What_?" he snaps out.

"Have you thought about making your interest in people known without any sort of disturbing wolf-themed analogies, brainwashing or dominance mounting?"

"It's conditioning, not brainwashing, and I do not -" Jacob grits his teeth and glares. "I know you're baiting me." 

Jacob normally spots it before John gets a reaction out of him, which says a lot.

"Yes, but if there was nothing there then it wouldn't work," John points out. "And people think I'm the unstable, perverted one."

"I'm leaving," Jacob tells him, chair scraping back on the floor. "You're a pain in the fucking ass when you're like this."

John huffs annoyance but Jacob is already half way to the door. 

"Stop calling me here for advice on your doomed quest to get the deputy to pay attention to you, I have better things to do," Jacob says on his way out.

"Slideshows to make?" John calls after him.

Jacob slams the door behind him, frame rattling.

Maybe John could make some sort of slideshow? Something with planes?

 

~

 

Two days later, John's still angry at himself for letting the deputy get to him.

He's angry that his petulant rage at the deputy rejecting his offer of help, and gently insinuating that John is not competent enough to fly for him, led to the destruction of his personal radio. He shouldn't have let himself be baited, he shouldn't have given in to wrath. But with the damage done he should have found a new radio and _insisted_ , he should have found some way to make the deputy accept his offer of help.

He should not have gotten in his plane, flown halfway across the valley and shot his name into a field to demonstrate his exceptional fucking flying skills.

Looking back on it, that was a little childish, and slightly insane. It could not have given a good impression.

He's seriously considering contacting Joseph, explaining everything and letting Joseph's certainty and focus and determination flow over him, with all the blunt, destructive power of an ocean. Joseph has a way of making everything look clearer. Of making him feel like he can make a difference, if John had even half of Joseph's serenity -

"John, are you there?"

John knocks half the equipment off the table trying to drag his new radio closer.

"Deputy," he says breathlessly. "What a surprise."

Whatever he wants, whatever he's calling for, John will get it for him, John will make it happen. He will kill people if necessary.

"This is a stupid idea." Rook sounds like he's leaning away from the radio, like he's talking to someone else. But John can't talk because he hasn't let go of the button yet, there's just the low unintelligible rumble of his voice, paying attention to someone who isn't John. To everyone who isn't John, which is started to feel very familiar. 

"Look," Rook says eventually, clearly to him this time, though he doesn't say his name again, which John finds deeply disappointing. "Me and the others, me and my _friends_ , we're thinking of getting matching tattoos and we figure yours are really well done."

John slides down in his chair, presses his forehead against the radio and exhales loudly.

"And since you won't stop talking, you can at least tell me who did them," Rook asks.

John looks up, scowls at the radio.

Who did them? _Who_ did them.

He has the button held down before he really thinks about it.

"Me," he says, a touch more biting than he intends. "I did them myself." He did Joseph's too, and half of Eden's Gate. Does Rook not pay attention? Didn't John threaten him with a tattoo gun once?

"I'm pretty sure you didn't do all of them," Rook says dubiously. "You have both hands done."

"Yes, I did, I can draw and write with both hands." The ones on his chest were not done by him, but that isn't what the deputy asked. He hasn't had occasion to see those ones yet. But if John has anything to say about it, he will see everything eventually.

Rook's quiet for a long minute, like perhaps he's impressed. John's thumb hovers over the button, wonders if Rook is talking, wonders what he's saying. Though he can already hear the protests the rest of his ridiculous companions would make. John honestly doesn't know whether to interrupt, whether that will make it better or worse. Whether he should push.

He squeezes the radio hard enough that it creaks, forces himself to let go of it before he loses this chance through impatience and stupidity again.

"Ok," Rook sounds cautious, but determined. "I'm going to ask you to meet me so we can talk about this, somewhere remote, just the two of us."

This is perfect. John could not have planned this better if he'd tried.

"Where would you like me to meet you, Deputy?" His voice sounds dragged all the way out of him.

This is perfect.

Rook tells him.


	6. I've Been Playing To Win

Rook gets to the overlook twenty minutes early. Mostly because he's gotten used to using the woods to cut anywhere, vaulting fences and sliding his way down inclines, taking a zipline when the mood takes him. Either way he has more than enough time to spare when he gets there. He leans back against a sign depicting a map of the area he's in, it's covered in little pictures of bears, deer and wolves, surrounded by a child's idea of what trees looks like. There's even a 'you are here' dot, just in case you were lost. He's not sure why, since you can see the lookout tower from here.

Rook doesn't know exactly which plan he's going to go with, a lot of it depends on what John does when he gets here. Rook hasn't decided what he wants to happen yet, though his body feels restless and impatient. As fun as this is, dragging it out is starting to feel a little like a punishment, and part of him wonders exactly how long John will agree to play the game with him. He's pretty famous for being unstable to the point of madness, and Rook has effectively been goading him into a sexually charged, jealous rage for the last few months.

As much as he's enjoying this, he's well aware that John Seed is fully capable of tearing the valley and everything in it to pieces.

Rook's thrown out of his own thoughts by the slam of a car door, and the sound of boots on dirt.

John Seed climbs the slope with a lazy sort of indulgence, like he's enjoying making Rook wait. But Rook can't find it in him to object, John's probably earned it, and it's a very enjoyable view. He's wearing the coat with planes on it, the one Rook has made jokes about numerous times. Though the stupid thing suits him. Everything suits him, he's ridiculous, and Rook fucking _wants_ him. And he only has himself to blame.

John comes close enough to touch, mouth a curve of amusement. He looks neat and clean, and he smells pretty damn inviting. Rook thinks John made an effort, just for him, and Rook appreciates it.

Fuck it, plan C it is.

Rook packs away his scowl and his wary posture. He smiles at John instead, amused and honest, which seems to throw John entirely.

"I didn't know if you'd come," he says. It's not really a lie. Rook had been fairly certain that John would show up, but Jacob's been seen in the valley recently, more than once. If anyone was going to screw up Rook's plans, it would be Jacob. Who seems to take Rook's very existence as a personal insult.

John looks briefly suspicious, before he seems to decide that he doesn't care.

"Who am I to refuse a request that comes with a compliment," he tells him.

"There's no one here but me," Rook offers, just in case John was worried about that. But John doesn't bother to even look around.

"How trusting of you," he says smoothly, and Rook doesn't think John can resist the subtle undercurrent that feels like a threat, though it's a gentle, teasing one. At this point Rook thinks that John Seed being mildly threatening is just the cologne that his personality wears.

Not that Rook would object to being threatened a little.

Rook reaches out for John's arm, touches him, curls fingers around the warm skin of his wrist and lifts it, turns it over so he can get a better look at the harsh black lines. 

John has gone very still, exhale flaring out of him. He looks like he wants to say something, but it won't come out. His forearm is almost smooth, there's the dip and rise of scars when Rook shifts his thumb. The movement makes John's fingers slowly curl open

Rook genuinely has a good look while John is letting him, because he's never actually had the opportunity. He's only seen his tattoos in passing, under the sleeves of his shirt, or when his wrist turned to pass a book or a steel sharpener from hand to hand. John actually does decent work, there's jagged simplicity and fine detail mixed together. He has nice lettering too, it's sharp and clean.

"Have you - " John stops, clears his throat. "Have you thought about what you want?"

Rook has been thinking about getting a tattoo since forever. He kind of wanted a shark for a while, it's the only thing he's loved since he was a kid, but he lives in Montana, he's never even seen a real shark. Everything else, everything in his life was just a temporary interest.

"What would you put on me?" Rook asks, both because he wants to know, and he wants John to try and talk while Rook is carefully sliding his thumb across the black lines on his skin.

"What would I put on you," John says, measuring out each word slowly, as if he's still trying to process the warm curl of Rook's fingers on his wrist. "Now that's something of a leading question."

"By all means, be led." Rook smiles at him, and John opens his mouth to reply, gets lost somewhere when he gets a good look at Rook's expression.

John frowns, blinks at him.

"You're playing with me," he says instead, all surprise and accusation.

"I've been playing with you since the beginning," Rook admits. He's not going to pretend he hasn't enjoyed being a distraction. That he hasn't been strangely flattered that he was apparently distracting enough to make John Seed stupid. "And it took you far too long to work it out, I thought you were supposed to be smart?" 

John's eyes narrow sharply when he finally gets it, when he finally understands what Rook has been doing. 

"I do not fucking believe you -" John hisses, voice suddenly a snapping grate of anger. But Rook is already moving, two quick steps forward. He presses John into the sign, watches his sunglasses slip and fall to the floor, and his perfect hair scrape against the wood. Rook pushes in and kisses him, crushes the second half of an angry sentence into a choked sound of want. Rook laughs against his mouth, hands sliding down to grip John's narrow waist, pulling him in tighter. John makes an angry, desperate noise in his throat, digs his fingers painfully into Rook's hair and shoves his mouth open. John Seed does not fuck around, he kisses like Rook owes him, and that's probably fair, all things considered. Rook has been waiting for this for what feels like months, and he thinks John feels the same, because every time Rook tips away to take a breath John makes a protesting noise and drags him back in. Which makes the whole messy thing drag on for a while.

John blinks dazedly at Rook when he pulls away for good, while Rook stares at his mouth, at the open curve of it bruised red by his own, and considers whether he wants to rethink his original plan, and see what John Seed will let him do to him right here instead. 

Patience is a virtue, he tells himself, and John might actually approve of that one.

"My favourite colour is red," Rook tells him, and steps back. It takes John exactly five seconds to realise Rook has handcuffed his wrist to the sign's post, and he clearly doesn't know whether to be impressed, turned on, or _furious_. But he makes every one of them look good, and Rook has absolutely no regrets at all.

Rook carefully tucks the key into the pocket of John's vest.

"Last one back to the ranch gets handcuffed and taken to confession," Rook tells him with a smile.

John hisses a breath out through his teeth.

"Oh, I am going to hurt you," he says softly, but it sounds strangled and breathless.

Rook just smiles. 

He takes John's truck, and figures the head start will be more than enough.

John steals a fucking plane. 

 

~

 

Rook loses the race by seven minutes. 

Though he can't bring himself to be too upset about it.

 

~

 

John's bed is sinfully comfortable, and more than big enough for two, even though Rook feels like he's taking up a ridiculous amount of space right now. Though he has absolutely no intention of moving.

He thinks that the handcuffs and the handcuff key are still in the sheets somewhere. If he loses either he'll probably have to fill out paperwork. He'll probably have to fill out significantly more paperwork about the fact that he has the youngest Seed still half sprawled over his body, legs wrapped over and under his own like he's trying to keep Rook captive.

John's hair is a mess, half of it flopped into Rook's neck and half of it tickling his cheek. John's mouth still looks bruised, and there's a messy bitemark curved over his shoulder.

Rook should probably be doing something productive, liberating something, rescuing things, bears with their heads stuck in things, Eden's Gate something something?

Instead he sighs into John's hair. Which still smells really, really good.

John grumbles something he doesn't catch, arm tightening where its looped round Rook's waist. 

Rook should probably get up. It was morning a while ago, and someone is going to radio him soon, someone is going to come looking for him, or someone is going to come looking for John. There will be search parties, and someone will probably get caught in a bear trap.

That will be Rook's fault somehow, he's sure of it.

But he's not moving, and one of his hands has somehow found its way down to the long, bare length of John's thigh, dragging it up higher, until John makes a sleepy noise of approval.

Alright, fine, ten more minutes.

Ten minutes turns into twenty, and then some more time, Rook's not sure how much, because John pushes his thighs open and bites a trail down to the rapidly hardening length of his cock. Rook pulls his hair, and tries to slip greedy fingers into his mouth as well, which John doesn't object to. Rook realises very quickly that John isn't going to object to anything. He's going to say yes to _everything_ that Rook wants. Which is the last coherent thought he remembers having.

It's a lot later the next time Rook is completely awake, John is a rolling press of lazy weight over his hips. Rook feels a hand spread on his stomach, and hears a very distinctive click.

"Stop taking naked pictures of me," Rook grumbles. "Especially when I'm in your bed, and your fucking distinctive hand is in the picture."

He cracks an eye open.

"Seriously, is this your first time having a clandestine affair?"

John Seed is a smug length of messy hair, bare skin and tattoos, knees either side of Rook's waist. He's been smiling that creepy, possessive smile since he dragged Rook through the front door and slammed him into the back of it.

"My brother had doubts, I want to crush them and then rub it in his face," he says simply. 

Rook assumes that John means Jacob, he hopes that he means Jacob, because the alternative is disturbing in very unique ways.

He slides his hands up John's thighs, watches his whole body try and push into the touch and smiles.

"I'm not exactly thrilled by the idea of Jacob having a naked picture of me," Rook tells him.

"Are you worried he's going to angrily masturbate to it?" John asks, mouth hiked up on one side.

"Frankly, yes." Rook admits. 

"He's not that imaginative," John tells him, which make Rook laugh. "Though I wouldn't blame him. You are very distracting, and I didn't even have a picture. I had to use my imagination. You made me sin for you." The last part is said quietly and accusingly.

John's hand slides lower, to where there's a collection of neat lines, sliced low on Rook's abdomen, they're shallow, barely more than a hot sting, and they won't even scar. But John can't seem to stop touching them, thumb dragging the line of the L. It makes him shiver out a breath and squeeze Rook with his knees, like he remembers what they'd been doing when Rook let him leave the word there. Rook suspects this is going to be a theme if they're going to keep sleeping together. 

"I had my doubts about whether I could convince you to end up here with me," John admits. "Though if I'd known you were playing with me, I would have been more persistent. I would have been more aggressive. I would have made you pay for some of it." His voice has gone low and breathy, as if he regrets not getting the chance, and Rook can't help but make a noise of agreement. He thinks he would have liked that too. Though they would have been a terrible influence on each other. 

"I was enjoying you chasing me," Rook says, because it's true. "I spend a lot of time in the woods. Which is very boring and kind of lonely. I liked listening to you bitch at me, I liked listening to you, you have a good voice." It's very sinful, though Rook suspects John will be offended by that.

"You were driving me insane," John points out, but softly, like he's glad he could keep Rook company.

John leans in, moves one of Rook's legs until he can push a knee between his thighs, encourage them to open around John's waist. 

"I was furious, I wanted you to notice me, I wanted you to _need_ me." John drops low enough to kiss him, and it's aggressive in a way that feels natural, and messily honest. "I wanted to bring you here and make you mine, and carve my name into you," he says thickly.

Rook pulls at his hair, until John looks at him.

"No permanent mutilation on a first date," Rook tells him.

John laughs and kisses him again, far too pleased, like he thinks that might be a yes


End file.
